Roads to Home
by HoppsHungerfan
Summary: Woof Dagmar. He was a victor Katniss knew nothing about besides observations. He's a victim and citizen of Panem. No one knows his story like Woof Himself.
1. Hunger Games 15

**Three years before**

In an instant, my heart shattered. Standing in the perpetual smog that surrounds the factories looking up at the massive screens erected in front of us that played every waking nightmare 24 teenagers were forced through was an annual occurrance for everyone in the District. That year, I saw it through a new perspective.

Still shrouded in smog, my family and I, wearing our polished rags that did little to hide the poverty that plagued our family every so often. Even if my mother, a strong woman who helped bark orders to and from adjacent my father in the factories, claimed the rain was starting to drizzle, I knew it was tears. My father placed a hand on me in that instant, looking up at the screen and sighing as he did so. He was always more open to his emotions but still a quieter man than my mother. I blinked away the tears after the gong rang and saw Rufus Dagmar dive into the melee.

17 years old, the tallest tribute from District Eight at six foot three, but long and gangly without much muscle mass, but with such ' _DAZZLING!_ ' eyes and ever so gentle hands. Bets on him run across the sides of the screen as he dives for a backpack, 48-1. They're the best bets a male tribute from District eight has had in the start of the hunger games, the number five as his score flickering at the bottom.

I wince as he dodges a thrown spear that lands in the girl from District three. She's the third one down of the games, and I see Rufus try to run to an open passageway. After the first five minutes, I start to think he has a chance in the atypical arena, opening my mouth to cheer before the sixteen year old from District 2, the victoress' brother, slide tackles him to the ground and bashes a club over his head.

I turn away, burying my head in my mother's dusty dress, hiding myself from the glare the camera has on me. I'm probably on screen right now, but I don't risk checking myself until I'm one hundred percent sure that all tears are gone. The three of us wince as the bloodbath saunters onward with five more deaths, horrendous sounds echoing through the tight quarters of the town square.

"Well, Well!" I hear the ever so annoying Hunger Games announcer speak up. "The bloodbath has finally subsided, and the casualties are being picked up as we speak! Such a productive beginning. And thus ends mandatory viewing for the first hour. Thank you guys for joining us, but stay tuned for mentor commentary and building analysis!"

"Perky little fucktard," I whisper shakily, my voice obscured by mom's dress. I hug around her chest tighter, burying my face in her shoulders. "Rufus…"  
The District population in front of all of us finally is escorted out of the town square with vicious motivation from the peacekeepers. My father reaches over to my mother, gingerly explaining that we have to be filmed walking away, or giving final thoughts-whichever flows nicely for the camera folk. "Let's just, we need to move," mother says with the same conviction that carries her through the day. "Herbert, I don't think. We shouldn't go but-"  
"I understand," my dad quietly says, wrapping his scarf around my mom's shoulder. She shivers slightly and turns away from the camera, gently releasing me from my hug. "Woof, son, we'll be going home now. We have a bit to talk about."  
"I'll stay," I reply quickly. The words fall out my mouth a little more coldly than I expect to, but after today I don't think I can control myself. My parent's tall frames leave my sightline trailed by one camera member as I assume they make way home. I try to head into a bakery but a capitol camera man tries to stop me. "Bugger off, I just want to eat," I say, shoving my hand into my pocket.

In a moment I feel the weight lifted off of my shoulders as I enter the bakery. One of the workers catches sight of me, and tells her daughter to put it on a tab for the Dagmars. I frequent the bakery often, with Rufus, usually with a caramel covered swirl.

I sigh as I head out the backdoor, both caramel swirls in my hand as I gently close the door behind me. District Eight is a cramped District, one of the most that I've seen on television, and it's easy for me to get lost wandering the alleys. I find breaches in the fences where they sloppily cut across alleys, and they let in some wild dogs. One of them runs up to me as I pass by one of the smock factories and looks up at me eagerly. On walks with Rufus, I was taught to deal with scrappy dogs, but as I enter a defensive stance the dog looks at me strangely.

I lower myself to his level, holding out a portion of my caramel swirl for it as it wags its tail eagerly. It woofs in excitement and I manage to break a smile. "That's a lovely word. You've got my name down already," I say halfheartedly. The dog, a real son of a bitch if you ask me, plods around my person eagerly, nuzzling the back of my legs in affection. I continue walking through the alleys, only to be turned around by the shouts of anxious peacekeepers patrolling the wider streets. "Stay here, okay, I don't want you getting into trouble," I tell the dog. It hides behind a discarded tarp as the peacekeepers begin to wander down the alley I'm in.

Mandatory viewing is called, by the lack of brightness it must be night already, and I make my way to the square. "RASCAL!" one peacekeeper with a booming voice shouts at me, grabbing my hand.

I resist slightly, but he tightens his grip and begins to drag me over to the square. "No attendance during mandatory viewing is grounds enough for five lashes, resist more boy, it's rising to fifteen!" He finds the other caramel swirl in my hand and shouts once more. "Sticky fingers huh?! That's enough for twenty five if I'm right young sir!"

I'm beginning to open my mouth to object when I hear another voice counter his. "Let go of him," the man says. I recognize the raspy voice as the one of my mother's bosses, the nicer of the three. "My brother runs one of the bakeries, and he's one of their customers. I can have them ring him up and vouch for him."

The peacekeeper looks angrily at me, then at my mother's boss, then shoves me to the ground, muttering something about verifying bullshit to his boss and throwing the dirt on the factory. "I recognize you," my mother's boss says.

"Thank you for that, sir," I cough out. I pull myself up on my feet, dusting the dirt off of my pants as I match up with him. Like my brother, I'm particularly tall for my age, but just at five foot six, so I don't have to look up as much to look at my mother's boss.

"Your mother, she doesn't happen to work at one of my firms," he asks, escorting me inside.

"She works as one of the conveyor line leaders, getting the goods to where they need to be, sir," I cautiously say.

"I'll call her tonight, you'll stay for the night, most of the houses are awfully far away from our factories, are they not?" Briefly he introduces me to his wife and son, who treat me with complacency as I sit on his rather plush chair. I introduce myself as Woof Dagmar, and the boss' eyes immediately flicker with an idea. "Dagmar...your brother, was he on screen hours ago?" he asks tenderly.

It's all I can do not to crush the caramel swirl in my hand. "Yes," I choke out.

He respectfully nods and turns the television away from my sightline. "My cohort had a talk with your mother a while ago, you really need the money. I'll tell you this. We have a crew of conveyor belt cleaners, your brother might have been one of them. I'm thinking that you could very well join them. Pay isn't much, we're still reeling in from the taxes after Spindelly's victory."

I seem to recall what Rufus said about working, how well it could bring you home if you need to, how money means stability in this world and how we'll be saved. It takes a simple nod of my head, and hopefully Rufus' words won't go in vain.

 **Hey guys, Hopps here  
It's a new project, I know, but I've really been wanting to write a fanfiction about Woof's games, considering he's one of the more neglected figures in THG fanon overall.  
Tell me, what do you think of him? He wasn't really fleshed out, besides eating poisonous bugs and being senile. So I'm Hoping to catch him at his prime  
Hopping out  
Hopps**


	2. Hunger Games 17

**Hunger Games 17**

It's day 7 of watching this year's nightmare of the Hunger Games. It's the finale, the victor will be crowned tonight. They've clustered most of District Eight in the square, this is one of the farthest a boy's been in the games for a long while. I stand near the back of town square with the baker's daughter and her brother, who have prepared a little picnic to go through the proceedings. "Caramel swirl?" Bitsy offers with her basket. I politely decline before snatching a crust of bread from Buster's hand. I flash him a cheeky smile, probably meaning that I'm bound to fight him later. "Keep your shirts on," Bitsy patronizingly calls out. With Buster's comfortability in homosexuality, Bitsy seems to think that he and I make a good couple. I roll my eyes and crack my neck, already preparing for our nightly brawls.

As I stretch my joints, intimidating Buster as we usually do, there's a flash of bright light that causes all heads to turn to the screen in an instant. Even from back here, we can hear the profanities heard from the tributes and mentors alike as the garden comes to life. "Already our mentors are up and roaring at the new prospect of their tributes being up so bright and early!" Ponicherry sings out in a harsh voice.

'Roaring' proves to be an understatement as the working mentors, Daphne Rudrus and Leif Vanas of District 1, Torrent Swell of District 4, Acacia Quills of District 7, our victor, Delly from 8, and Gerrian Tomion of District 9, scramble awake. Daphne and Torrent exchange frantic looks at their screen and telephones as their girls struggle to find each other.

In the scariest mutt death I've ever seen, the girls are surrounded in a shrinking circle, precariously tapped by statue mutts that are of two victors frequently. It's the tipping point for Pacifica, the District 4 girl, who finally attacks Mira from District 1 in a hectic battle. They don't see this, but the mutts smile as Mira fights off her former ally only to die at their wrenching hands. Torrent leaves to join his best friend, Acacia of 7, and Daphne leaves to take the elevator up to her room.

Five seconds barely passes before Leif stands up in disbelief, baffled by the movement of a roving mangrove tree. His boy, once a handsome volunteer a month or so ago, is malnourished and moaning as the roots of the tree close around his limp body and carry him into the poisoned bushes. There's a terrible cry before he dies, crushed by the tree roots that cradled him in the last moments. Ponicherry enhances the audio for Leif, "Not again, never again, please," before he's seen leaving the floor much like his cohort seconds ago.

Bitsy moves closer to me and Buster as the camera switches to the viewpoint on one of the tributes, climbing over a bush and holding a knife made from mutt bones, preparing to pounce on some movement. Ellis Merrick, a child to one of the peacekeeper captains in District 8, pounces on Streak Virous, the outlier favorite. He loses his grip on his makeshift knife, but still futilely fights against the tribute from Seven. They scream profanities throughout the bloody battle, but it's clear who the winner is when Ellis ends up on the ivy laced floor, screaming up at the sky. The split screen shows Acacia slamming her hand on a button, muttering something, sending down an axe to her tribute.

It says something that this is one of the bloodiest deaths I've seen, and one that causes the entire audience to turn away for the fourth time in the past five years. Bitsy buries her head in my shoulder, she was good friends with Ellis before his reaping. I hold her tightly until the Hunger Games finishes for this year, Streak being pulled out as a gorgeous mess from the statue garden. The peacekeepers announce mandatory viewing over, giving us an hour reprieve before curfew.

"Woof," Buster says as he puts his hand on my shoulder. "I'll take her from here, you can head off," he says in his rather low voice.

"I'll see you guys tomorrow, save a caramel custard for me, won't you?" I bid farewell. Buster nods behind me, guiding his sister to their apartment over the central bakery. I know I should be sleeping, probably be going back home, work is always demanding the day after the hunger games, but I just can't after days with death.

The crust of bread I snicked off of Buster's plate is still in my hands as I roam my usual route, passing by one of the boys who tried to fight me a month ago. The funny thing about being around dogs is that you kind of master their growls and menacing looks. I still barely made it out of that fight without more than a sprained wrist, but I rested the entire day after, making 14 percent less than my weekly earnings.

I find the wild dog, a little milder compared to other wild ones, but it wags its tail as I find his shelter, moving the sheet metal that makes up his leanto to bend over and give him my meager crust. I ruffle its hair warmly before moving home, at about ten o'clock by the watchmaker's window display, and gently open my door. "Mom, Dad," I shout to the near empty apartment. "I'm home."

They've stopped replying a month after Rufus' death. I sigh, loud enough to echo in the cramped quarters of this apartment. I move the beer bottles from the small table and put them in a bin that'll be exchanged for money in a month, and pulling out a cup for water. Quietly I sip, staring at the photo of my brother on a rickety shelf. "This isn't home, Rufus. I'll take you back somewhere safe, I'll take you home." I can almost feel his comforting blue eyes gaze from above as I walk to my sleeping spot on the couch, curling under a blanket. "You will be home."

 **Hey guys, Hopps here  
Not much, just an introduction chapter, and this will be a minor project with higher priority than QQ but lower than ACAH. Tell me what you think, and I will pull through with this one  
Hopping out  
Hopps**


	3. The Day before the reaping

**The day before the 18th Reaping**

"Thank you Sir," I tell my superior. He grabs the rag from out of my hands and hands me a moist towelette. He's a silent man, having worked with Mr. Slacks since the inception of the factory. I get my bag from the lockers before moving out into the alleys. The factory air still isn't anything a District 8 resident can get used to, but we manage.

I guard my pack close to my body as I navigate the factory block. Town square isn't far from here, but people here get desperate to sell anything they can get their hands on. The spare coins from selling my parents' bottles still jingle against my thigh through my trousers with every step I take to Town Square. Instinctively I stick my hand to the pocket, wary of all pickpocketers that I know inhabit the alleys.

The dogs I usually spend my time with aren't anywhere in sight by the time I make it to the usual alley. I can only assume they're sleeping so I tread carefully and dance gingerly around any piles of trash. There are a couple of bums that I move around especially carefully, I know the dangers of the District well. My creeping around has successfully taken me to the main square, as I've planned. I see Bitsy, her ethereal red hair almost casting a perfect halo in the night, something that she shares with her brother. "Bitsy," I call out as I run to her.

"Woof," Bitsy says. She runs up to me and hands me my food. "Your parents said you can stay with us for the night. You have your clothes with you, no?"

I nod tiredly and take her outstretched arm as we walk to the bakery. I find Buster at the tables, wiping away at crumbs and wringing at a rag. Their parents are still in the kitchen, possibly wheeling the trays of bread into the pantry for tomorrow. "Come on," Bitsy tells me. She beckons me into the apartment flat upstairs, showing me into Buster's room.

I empty my pack onto the creaking mattress and put the contents from my pockets on a side table. With a sigh I grab one of my clothes and lay it out for reaping morning. I'm about to step out of my old work wear before a knock at the door comes about my attention. "Come in," I say.

Buster walks in gently-trying not to let the door loudly creak. "Hard day at work?" he asks.

"Long one. Couldn't get the belt off of its rollers. Good thing we have a day off tomorrow," I joke coldly.

"EAsy for you to say. You know it's one of our busiest days tomorrow," with a sigh he strips off his dusty apron and hangs it on the door. "You don't mind if I change here, no?"

"If anything I should be asking you permission, it's your room. How are the merchants treating you nowadays?"

"Earning a little more cash on the side, it'll fund my chemistry textbooks. Woof, didn't you want to be a chemist?"

"Engineer. I'd think that you of all people would know that." I lightly chuckle as he pulls down an old and dusty book. "Still reading that old chemistry, huh? Old Lavoisier keeps pulling you in?"

I can practically feel him roll his eyes when I begin to change out of my work clothes. "I have a spare book up here, you want to read it?"

"Nothing better to do," I say. "How's your relationship with that one guy, uhh, the shoemaker?"

"There are like three shoemaker families in this part of District 8. You really need to be more specific."

"I don't know, the one with the blond boy with abs that I might recall you describing as cut from the smoothest linens and blessed with eyes grown from gentlest rose," I say with a raised eyebrow. He tries and fails to hit me with a ball of socks, one that I pelt him with almost immediately.

Buster enters a fighting stance that I match, and we exchange several punches before I knock him to the floor and pin him while he tries to fight back. "You spitwad... Either way, we aren't going well. He swings for the typical team."

"Sorry to hear. You could have just told me without you throwing the sock you know. Come on." I grab his hand and prop him up with a leap. I dust off his shoulders with several hastily moved hands.

"Thanks," he grumbles.

"Now what's up?"

With tired eyes, he lets out another sigh and sheepishly shakes his head. "Just reaping stress you know? Even as bakers, we have some tesserae. Bitsy and I are just really worried...more than in years past you know?" I invite him to sit with me on the bed and he just relaxes his head on the wall. "Ya' know that last year was rather...hard on all of us. District 8 could have brought someone home. Ellis was so close."

I clear my throat to let out some choked words and place a gentle hand on Buster's shoulder. "Ellis was a fluke, just some dumb luck," I tell my friend. _I feel like we've been through this before_ I think to myself. "It's the arena for me though. The odds of one of your friends getting reaped, you know, they're basically nil."

He's always been a fretful boy, and I've noticed that reaping days often bring him like this. "I don't know how you do it, but, you kind of have a calming aura under that gruffness. Too bad you're straight, hehe, right?"

"I suppose," I reply with an awkward chuckle. "Isn't it your busy day in the bakery tomorrow? We should get some sleep, huh?"

"Do you want a flashlight for reading or something?"

"I think we just need some sleep, you know?"

He shuts up soon afterwards, shutting of the main light and shining a flashlight on his chemistry book. I'm about to fall asleep when Buster speaks up about an hour later. "Hmmm?"

"You know you're the first gay crush I've ever had, right? But I'm over you, because you and I don't swing the same way, right?"

"Yeah Buster, you've said that every year since we were 14, you know."

"I know," he replies. "I've just thought I'd tell you. I feel like this year is going to be different. And well…"

"Don't worry about it, nothing will change at all. Good night Buster."

"Good night Woof." Even with my timid friend falling asleep soundly against the warm glow, I can't help but let some thoughts keep me awake. There's always that nagging feeling that shit will change, and because of the reaping it will always be out of our control.

Still I have to shake my head, i've seen loss, but that was years ago. Years ago. Right? YEah, years ago. I gaze at my pile of work clothes, in a clump on a chair in the corner, next to my profit on the sidetable. I'm probably going to put it to my tab, about 20% of what I make goes to the Dagmar tab, with 50% going to the family, and the last 30% going to me. I'm not a good budgeter, but I will bring Rufus out of our home. "And that's a promise," I mutter to myself.

 **Hey Guys, Hopps here**

 **It's a fluffy chapter you know, the calm before the reaping storm. And I'm sorry for the late updates for most of my work, I've been really unmotivated but on a total drama kick,**

 **I know, fruitless apologies, but I hope you're all enjoying this so far**

 **Hopping out**

 **Hopps**

 **P.S. I've envisioned a younger Woof as like Mike from Total Drama. Thoughts?**


	4. The Morning before the Reaping

**Morning of Reaping Day 18:**

I wake up with the sun beating down on my face and the sounds of a busy bakery underfoot. It only takes me five seconds to realize that Buster's probably downstairs at work, judging by the smell of baking bread. I begin to dress out of my sleep wear into something cozier for my typical walks through the districts. With how long I usually walk I might not have enough time to make it back for the reaping. Regardless, the reaping won't start until 12:30, so I still dress in my formal shirt but save my pants for later.

With light footsteps I try my best to move down the stairs without drawing much attention from the paying customers. It's a day off for most of the District, with the exception of the bakery, and it's already abuzz with patrons and loiterers alike. Bitsy has always been observative as the cashier though does look for me when I stay the night, can't risk her looking around with the shady crowd of customers at this hour.

Not without my breakfast of course, just a slice of my favorite bread and some jam on the side. I daintily apply the jam with a plastic knife before sending the materials back to Bitsy. "Going home Woof?"

"Yeah," I say after a moment of hesitation. "Save a swirl for me, won't you? And I'm heading on my route, with a small loaf of bread."

"Duly noted," she quickly states. She puts the money on my tab and I move outside quickly into the main square. At 8:30, most of the square is in chaos as the trains move in with the Capitol supplied equipment for the reaping, including the ever so vital reaping ball and papers. For the 18th games, they have a clock over town square that will count down to the reaping-where it slowly moves from 3:30 to 3:29:15.

Realizing that it may take a while to make it home for me, I set to walking across my usual alley quickly, sliding past any patrolling peacekeepers. All factories are shut down so it is a significantly lighter walk home for me than normal. I make sure to drop by some of the dogs en route home since being a caretaker is a demanding but rewarding job.

"Lydia," I call out quietly. A quick moving and rather tall girl steps out of the shadows without a sound with eyes alert as usual. Her nervous glance fades as she recognizes me and I warm up significantly when I see her. AFter the chaos of Hunger Games 17, I found her taking care of a birthing bitch in one of the numerous cardboard boxes around the District. I have never seen her in school, not that I go out in the alleys for the school weeks anyways, so she's an orphan, like other District 8 kids. "What's up?"

"Not much," she sheepishly giggles. "Dog, yeah, there are more of them, another birth you know?" She's one of the street children of the District, and my closest friend other than Bitsy and Buster. "They're safe."

"Are you too? Remember what I told you about your alleys, how they're patrolled. I have half a slice of bread for you, and some crusts for the dogs if you see them," I say as I turn over the food from my pockets.

"Thanks Woof, you're a good friend," she replies, almost blushing. "I want to see you after the reaping, with the dogs, and say hello. Are you going to be home?"

With an awkward smile that I piece together, I reply, "I'll be home. Just give me ten minutes after the reaping, ok? Be safe out there."

"You too," she replies before melting back in the shadows.

The rest of my route passes without much confrontation until I know that home is just three blocks away. In a flash I'm rammed against a wall by some broken force-a broken angry force. "The...fuck...do you want?" I say as I lift my face from the wall.

"YOU WILL PAY FOR MY BROKEN ARM YOU SON OF A BITCH!" the force's voice says abruptly. Immediately I recognize him, Ned Campbell, one of the fuckers who takes pleasure in murdering dogs and mugging humans. He's blond, blue eyed, and a big bastard. I fought him two weeks ago, so his hand should still be strained, that much I know, but it actually hurts when he holds my arm at a ninety degree angle and pushes my face inward. Yet I count to ten, let my mind clear out, and then attack.

I kick him backwards, swiftly knocking him off guard. It alleviates pressure off of my back but he still tries to hold my hand backwards. With my other hand free I poke him where I think his eyes are, only to get bitten harshly when I jab my hand into his mouth. I loudly scream and curl my hands inward, ignoring the air that hits the blood and bring him closer. He lays some good punches along my face and stomach, definitely about to bruise it, but he's all upper body with no leg work.

I sling him against the wall, kicking him repeatedly against his gut and throwing him against the ground. He moans in pain as I kick him where he considers it valuable-his neck, his scrawny neck that clashes against his torso. Yeah, he's down for the count, I think. With a huff I turn around, clutching my nose as I traverse the many flights of stairs it takes to get to my apartment. "Mom, Dad, I'm home," I announce like usual.

I get no response other than two heads looking up from their meal. "Woof, what happened?" my father asks quickly.

"Fell down," I reply a bit to swiftly. I fell against a brick wall technically, so it isn't lying really. "Going to patch myself up and then get changed."

My parents nod as they hear my plan. Just once I'd like to hear confirmation, not much just a simple 'Okay' if it is fine. And if it isn't then I'd be fine with more than a customary glance. I wonder if Rufus sees what happened when he left, the remnants of his family that he's left behind when he met his end.

"No," I say aloud. "I can't blame you." I close my eyes and imagine my brother, three inches taller than I am, his sleek frame dodging the rush of tributes before falling-no, escaping, then finding a camera. He looks into the Camera and says, "Woof, I said I was going to make it home, and I'm several steps closer."

The analysts of the 15th Hunger Games say that had Rufus escaped the bloodbath he was in serious running to become one of the powerhouses in the brickhouse. They put his odds at victory if escaping the bloodbath at 75%, one of the best District 8 has ever seen, and no one has matched that since.

I wipe my eyes hastily after my quick reflection, finding that I'm only half dressed and baring my torso to the cool air of our apartment. It gets oddly cold in the summer months, so I take great care to pull over a dark grey undershirt gingerly over any bruises that I've obtained with my recent brawl against Ned. I top of my torso's attire with a light blue polo and fold the collar downward to show a little bit of my chest. When it comes to my lower wear I slip out of my well worn jeans into something a bit more malleable, darker black jeans, and end my attire with lace up dark grey loafers.

Sure I'm not the most fashion forward person in District 8, and Buster very much cringes when I try to explain my wardrobe choice with a bunch of stutters, but I don't care considering it's just my style. "Mom, dad," I announce as I step out. "I'll be going now."

Once again, I don't receive the time of day. "We'll join you in a moment," Mom says carelessly. She doesn't look up from her mug evan as I step out of the door. With a heaving sigh I leave the apartment into the shabby hallway. I can't take the alley back to town square so I resort to the main streets, already flooding with more peacekeepers than usual.

I do notice several peacekeepers flushing out the alleys rather harshly so I do suppose I made the right decision by taking the main streets. Surely Buster and Bitsy are already at the square, and with District 8 being one of the least populated Districts, I'll find them soon. Or maybe I can wait after the reaping if I find them too late. All too soon I reach the town square, with the line of sharply dressed teens already heading out the square as we await the tallying procedures.

Yeah, I wouldn't know it at that point, but it would be the last time I was in that line.

 **Hey guys, Hopps here**

 **It's a longer chapter, probably the longest, idk. But I hope you got a sense of life from District 8 for this chapter, getting a good sense of Woof and his surroundings. I hope you liked it because next chapter is Woof's reaping and possibly goodbyes. Let me know if you like this story so far, it really helps.**

 **Also, PODCAST is currently under progress, and I intend to get that out soon, so look forward to the link on my profile.**

 **Hopping out**

 **Hopps**


	5. The Reaping

**The Reaping**

In the pens, the sun begins to move higher and higher as more of my fellow teenagers begin to fill in the gaps. Buster spots me after he finishes his sign up about three quarters of an hour later-a perk of being tall I guess. With a nervous smile on his face he chuckles lightly, "Stuck in the sun really isn't a good day, huh?"

His attempts to break a joke are feeble, but i know it's what is calming him down on this horrendous day, so I pass a small smile as I talk with him. "You shouldn't have much in the bowl, huh?" I lightly chatter.

"No, just four. How many do you have?"

"Taking out 12, not as bad as it could be for me, but it really could be better."

"There are a good two thousand people in this square," Buster drabbles, awkwardly holding his hands to his side. "And a good chunk of them need more tesserae than you do Woofy boy."

"Don't tell me you're bringing that shit nickname back up," I joke, punching him on his shoulder. "Suppose I am reaped, what if they over hear you calling me that and proceed to make my name for the hunger games that-Woofy boy...how will people take me seriously?"

"Well I don't know, become a supervillain and change your name to WoofWild?"

His remark earns him a quick hit on the head before I stand alert to the front of the stage. The peacekeepers are still setting up preliminaries on the stage and have the first two of three sets of chairs set up. There still is a strong line of peackeepers against the edge of the stage even as our few technicians continue to fix the microphones. There are brief moments when I manage to talk to Buster but they always fade away quickly in the heat of the day.

When the central three walk on stage, Mayor Cuspfeld, our escort Jingle, and our only victor, Spindelly Dicer, stride on stage, the peacekeepers depart from their default positions and stand at the entrances to the pens. Mayor Cusp makes his way to the stage shakily and pulls out his speech. Currently he's pushing 70, a good age for District 8 standards, but just without many people living long afterwards.

The speech he tells relates the dark days and how it affected the lovely home of District 8. Er...scratch that, it's about Panem uniting as one after the tragedies, then what happened to District 8 during the dark days, and how merciful the capitol is. Then Cuspfeld steps back in order to segue to Jingle.

Her lime green outfit clashes spectacularly against the smog and grey of District 8, which I'm sure causes quite a bit of stomach pains. "Now, now, I, Jingle Salsaberry, as I am known, will work with our very best technicians to segue into the video that I'm sure most of you are waiting for," Jingle trills. It's very annoying when she changes her pace, trying to fill in what I assume the capitol quota for showing, and something that Buster and I like making fun of in the off season.

The video passes, the same shit as always, just what Mayor Cuspfeld said before but put to emotional music and heart pounding visuals. It fades away without much recognition and the seal of Panem is there in its place. "Now then, let's get ready as we pull out our first female tribute," Jingle says as she strides to the reaping bowl. She fondles around the inside, shaking the contents within momentarily before pulling out a crisp folded paper. The sun just now chooses to appear behind him, and it immediately causes squints among the herded audience. "Alexa Fenrir."

There's a scream, something typical in the audiences, and something that causes Delly to perk up in her seat, before the 15 year old slowly stumbles her way out in the stage. She's kind of pretty, with short sandy blond hair and a cherubic face, but already on the verge of tears as her petite hands clutch tightly to her mouth. "Why...Why me..." the speakers pick up as she stumbles her way on stage.

Jingle asks a customary call for volunteers, to which no one replies to. "Very well, keep your head up dearie," she says kindly as she passes Alexa by. "Now, for our gentleman joining her…" There's a haunting moment as we all see her grappling around in the bowl for guys, and even before she reads the name, I turn to Buster and ask him to move. "Woof Dagmar."

I'm about to the edge of my pen when I freeze up, hearing something of a snicker behind me, probably Ned Campbell, but who the fuck cares about him at this point? With a determined glare I remove the velvet from its rack to exit into the aisle. I'm vaguely aware of all cameras on me, all eyes on me, and most importantly, my parents looking at me. I curl my lip after taking a deep breath and march to the stage dutifully, not even passing a glance at fellow shell shocked teens.

At the very least, standing on stage, the sun is no longer in my eyes. I can spot my parents through my periphery line of sight, finally active in moving to the front of the stage, but I force myself to keep my eyes fixed to the back. "Thank you District 8, for yet another lovely set of tributes, and may the odds be ever in our favor," Jingle says as Panem's anthem plays. The crowd is herded out of the square quickly while peacekeepers march along with us to the entrance of the justice building.

"Thirty minutes for goodbyes, we'll choose how they will be divided among your visitors," the peacekeepers explain. They shove us into opposite rooms before shutting the doors behind us. I need to think, just need to think, but when my first visitors show up, I know that whatever I plan to do has to also accomodate for them.

 **Hey Guys, Hopps here**

 **I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter, it's kind of quick, but I just think it will make more sense to have the goodbyes for a separate chapter. There'll be a lot of character interactions to go through, and that should be out sometime soon.**

 **Anyways, I'd love to see reviews from you dozen or so viewers, if you would. Also, if you've caught my first podcast, tell me what you think**

 **Hopping out**

 **Hopps**


	6. Goodbye

**The Goodbyes**

I know I want to cry. I know I want to cry, which is all I know at this point. No boys have made it back to District 8, not Ellis, not Rufus, what the fuck is that going to make me? I hit the wall in frustration, tears clouding my eyes. Dead, in a couple of weeks, just like Rufus. Rufus...I can't fill his promise...dead. Rufus, my role model, Rufus, my brother, Rufus Dagmar, District 8 male tribute number 14.

I'm shocked out of my thoughts when peacekeepers send in my parents, hastily throwing my parents in front of them. I look at my father, my mother, tears clouding their faces, and I run into them, hugging them longer than I've done ever since Rufus died. "Mom, Dad," I choke out.

"Not you too," dad mourns. "First Rufus and now you, there's only so much we can take."

Mom barely replies before she pushes away, almost fainting, but manages to sit on a lush chair that's to the side of the goodbye room. "I can't believe it… what the fuck does Karma think we deserve?"

I close my eyes harshly, blinking the tears away, resolving myself to stand up straighter, and gaze at my parents as they tremble on the couch. "Mom. Dad," I tell them. "No. I'm coming back home. I know Rufus...Rufus said he would come back too, but I'm not Rufus." My voice catches as I say his name, before continuing. "I will make it back. Inner Districts be damned, I'm coming back home."

Soon I catch my father's shaking eye, looking up at my six foot frame before hugging me tightly. He's always been a hugger, as is my mom. "Please, keep your promise, our hearts can't hold it for long," Mom says tiredly, putting on several years.

"If I make it, no more of this closed off stuff, please. I want to talk to my family, the one that I thought I'd never see, the one I thought I lost," I plead. They nod their heads as they hug, and we clock the remaining minutes down in a large group hug.

All too soon the peacekeepers barge in, separating my parents from me, with my last glimpse of them occurring as they try to claw away from the peacekeepers' massive holds. With a deep breath I fix my hair, realizing that I have at least two reasons to come home, before punching the wall once more, getting out any anger before the next guest makes her way in.

"Lydia," I exclaim, seeing her breathe rapidly under her shaking and frizzed hair.

"Woof," she replies, a bit out of breath. "I had...my siblings...I-they saw me again. I couldn't shake them off, I had to see you, rather than see them. The dogs...me...your life Woof? What's going to happen?"

"Haven't you seen these games? There's only one way out, kill or outlast," I reply, a bit more angrily than I would like to.

"I know, just try to make it back, please," she says quietly, almost to tears. "You're my only friend. The dogs, me, family, life, need you…" We spend the rest of her goodbyes in almost silence, with her trying to hug me but always pulling her hand back for some reason, and me repeating the same gestures next to her. Once again, the peacekeepers take her away, leaving me alone.

There's almost no time between Lydia leaving and my next visitors running in. i'm tackled to the floor by a strong force and momentarily have my breath taken out. "Buster-you fuck…"

"Sorry, sorry," he apologizes, helping me get to my feet. "Woof, we can't lose you, Bitsy can't, the bakery can't, I can't lose you, you're my best friend."

I slap him clear across his face to stop his blubbering before he once again tackle-hugs me. "I'm going to make it home," I say, absolutely resolute. I catch Bitsy's eyes and gesture for her to sit on the couch, letting her dry her tears quietly as I deal with her twin brother. "Buster, I can handle my own rather well. Take caer of yourself, that's all I'm asking for." I guide him to the couch where he sits meekly, resting his head on my shoulder as I talk to Bitsy.

"Remind me of your tab when I get home," I say jokinngly, trying to get a smile out of the Carnet siblings.

"Woof you fucktard, this is serious," Bitsy says, snorting and crying at the same time.

"Guys, I can do this. I just need to lay low, hit them where it hurts, in the eventual ego."

"You need to show yourself to the sponsors, show your strength, your agility," Bitsy tries to say.

"You aren't going in the games, I have a plan-stay on the down low-shock them, and I will go home to you guys."

For the last time, I'm left in a state of uncomfortable silence with my guests, soaking in the last moments that I'll spend with my best friend for possibly forever. Abruptly Buster gets up and looks to the door, worried. Suddenly he turns to me, cups my face in his hands, and kisses me for a good thirty seconds. Bewildered, I turn to his sister, trying to conceal her laughter even as the tears trickle down before turning to Buster. "I've always wanted to do that, you're a good kisser even when shocked…" His cheeky grin shines through as I slug him in the arm one last time.

Yes the peacekeepers drive me and the Carnet siblings apart for one last time, but not before Bitsy slides a token in my hands, with a kiss on the cheek to go along with it. My finger subconsiously traces where she kissed me, and where Buster kissed me, before the Peacekeepers escort me out of the goodbye room.

It's there I catch the last glimpse of District 8, my shit home, and the railroad that will take me away for who know how long. I swear I can smell the caramel swirls even from here.

 **Hey guys, hopps here**

 **I hope you guys like this chapter, and be sure to leave a review. I hope this was realistic for Woof's Hunger Games, and that you enjoyed the interactions so far.**

 **Next chapter, the train rides-where Woof meets the woman who failed to save his brother, and his partner.**

 **Hopping out**

 **Hopps**


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